


The Brother Kings

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mentions of Child Abuse (not the Winchesters), Mentions of Underage Sex, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:18:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were stories about them.  The Brother Kings of Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brother Kings

**Author's Note:**

> All art by sammycolt24
> 
> Beta'd by deceptivemirror
> 
> Written for 2013/2014 spn_reversebang

 

 

 

There were stories about them.  The Brother Kings.  Stories, and myths, and legends, even though the Kings were still alive and in the prime of their youth.  Still, a fog of mystery hung over the Lawrence Castle, and even those inside barely knew fact from fancy.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester were warriors, Bessie’s father told her.  When their father, the former King, had been killed in his quest to slay the demon Azazel, who had taken the life of the queen, it was the Brother Kings who tracked the demon down and sent him back to hell with holy water and holier words.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester were godly men, Bessie’s mother told her.  It was said they communed directly with the angels on high, and had been blessed by them.  She said it was the purity of their souls that allowed them to fight the monsters that besieged their land.  God had miraculous plans for them.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester were good kings, Bessie’s grandfather told her.  He had seen many kings before them, some too frivolous, some too bent on war.  He had seen the nation burdened by hardship and buoyed by good fortune.  The Winchesters, he said, did not need fortune.  They made their own luck.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester were unnatural, Bessie’s brother told her.  They had led the kingdom into peace, and fought against the forces of darkness themselves.  Under their rule, crops flourished and trade expanded.  The common folks’ fear of what hid the darkness died down.  It was all too good to be true, he told her.  Perhaps the Brother Kings had made a pact with the Devil himself.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester were beautiful, Bessie’s sister told her.  They had the bodies of the old gods, firm and strong.  Their faces looked as if they had been sculpted by the Lord himself in His pursuit of perfection.  They had not one flaw, she said, and she blushed brightly before whispering that she’d heard they were excellent in bed as well.

 

The first time Bessie saw the Brother Kings of Winchester, all of her family’s words faded away.

 

She’d been put to work in the kitchens, for the most part, but on the night of the great Yuletide feast, she was told to help serve the nobility.  It was there that she first saw them, and she could not help but fall still and silent at the sight of them.

 

They were not in the gaudy clothes of the nobility, which were meant to show off their wealth and good taste, but still half-armed.  Bessie was used to the fully-armed knights strutting about the castle, enough to appreciate the way the Kings’ remaining armor rested on their bodies.  Although their plackarts had been removed, their pauldrons, emblazoned with the red cross of their kingdom, remained on.  Etched into some of the leather straps holding the armor on was the Winchester’s own personal symbol, the pentacle.

 

She marveled at how simply they were dressed, half-armed, but otherwise wearing nothing but simple shirts, leather trousers, and their mighty swords.  Grand capes flowed behind them like shadows, and the only true ornament she saw were the crowns about their heads.

 

The Brother Kings of Winchester stood strong before their nobility, two wolves before a flock of peacocks.  And yet, Bessie thought faintly, she would dream of being eaten.

 

 

*

 

 

When King John of Winchester had first taken the throne, there had been general unease.  John was a warrior, born to a bookish nobleman whose ties to the royal family had been so distant that only the history books recalled exactly how they were related.  When the previous King had died without an heir, no one had expected John to take the throne.

 

The family with the best claim to the throne, in fact, was the family of Campbell.  Only a few generations back, the sister of the King had married into their clan, so the royal blood still remained somewhat undiluted in their line.  However, the Lord Campbell only had one child, a woman named Mary.  She, the other lords proclaimed loudly, could never take the throne.

 

It was Mary herself who suggested the solution; she would marry Lord John of Milligan, uniting the main claim to the throne with the lesser one, thus supplying the land with a King who could fight and a Queen who could govern.  Some of the nobility were not fond of this plan, but they took one look at John’s sword and backed down.

 

Within a month, John and Mary were wedded and crowned the King and Queen of Winchester.

 

In those early years, all seemed to have worked just as planned.  The Queen took care of matters of state while her husband rode about the country, fighting where he was needed and generally keeping the nobility in line.  It seemed a match made in heaven; besides complimenting each other in governance, Mary and John appeared to genuinely love each other.  No one was surprised when Mary became heavy with child only a few months into their marriage.  

 

Even after Prince Dean had been born, the kingdom continued to be idyllic, as it hadn’t been for hundreds of years.  There was great love throughout the kingdom for their beautiful and noble royal family, and celebration rang out when it was announced that the Queen was carrying a second heir.

 

Prince Samuel was born in early May, just as the harvest was being taken in.  Learned men said it was a good sign, a blessing from God.  The King and the Queen laughed at that, but they were just as enamored with their second child as they had been with their first.  Prince Dean himself would spend hours at his brother’s bedside, tickling his stomach with pudgy fingers and making the babe’s giggles ring throughout the castle.

 

Six months after Prince Sam was born, everything fell suddenly apart.  The Queen, up late nursing her youngest, was attacked by a demon in the shape of a man.  Being well educated about the darker beings in the realm, the Queen saw him immediately for what he was, and quickly gleaned that he meant to take her son from her.  She fought more fiercely than a lioness would in defending her cub, and managed to banish the demon, but at the expense of her own life.

 

The King was devastated.  For a week, he would not leave his room for grief.  His sons, one too young to understand and the other barely old enough to himself, were locked in with him.  There was not one person in the castle that could say what happened in the King’s rooms that week, but when they emerged, the King was a new man, hardened against the world.  He had sworn revenge on the demon who had killed his wife, and he left the ruling of his country to other men as he rode alone over the country, slaying any monster he came across with wicked glee.

 

The princely brothers were not unchanged from their isolation either.  From that day forward, they were never far apart, more bound to each other than normal brothers had any right to be.  In their father’s absence, they were taught to be educated men by tutors and mentored in the realm of governance by their father’s advisors, who ruled the kingdom on their behalf.  The boys would sit in on the council of lords at as young as four and eight, watching quietly as the daily affairs of their kingdom were decided.

 

They grew strong together.  One’s weakness was the other’s strength.  Both were excellent warriors, as well as well-learned and mannered.  They were taught every skill a prince should know, and a few more besides.

 

As they grew older, the King occasionally came and took them with him on one of his hunting quests.  For weeks, no one in the realm would have word from the King and his princes.  The kingdom had to pray that both boys would return alive; all knew that if one of the princes died, the other might may as well be dead also.  However, every time they returned, alive if not happy and healthy, and then the King would ride off again, only to come back months later and drag his sons away once more.

 

No one knew if Prince Sam and Prince Dean had seen their father die.  When they were twenty-two and twenty-six, he had collected them for one last quest to finally vanquish the demon.  When they’d ridden back two weeks later, they were alone.  The King was dead, they’d told the kingdom’s advisors.  All those tired old men had knelt before Prince Dean and proclaimed in solemn tones, “Long live the King.”

 

It was Prince Dean who had shaken his head, mouth pursed and eyes stern, and said he would not rule if his brother could not rule at his side.  The lords had protested, had told him that he would grow tired of sharing his authority with his brother, but the Prince remained steadfast.  He would not be crowned if Prince Sam was not crowned as well.

 

Two weeks later, it was done.  A new crown had been made for the younger prince, much in the design of the King’s crown, but shorter, the spires not as tall.  Prince Dean had been enraged at first, certain that this was the lords’ way of undermining his plans, but Prince Sam had calmed him.  He’d laughed, and told his brother that the spires were only shorter so that he would not appear to dwarf his brother even more than he already did.  “You should thank them,” Prince Sam had told him, “for now you do not look quite as much like a child next to me.”  Prince Dean had protested good-naturedly, but did not complain about the crown again.

 

They were crowned together in the great hall of their castle, the same place their parents had been crowned before them.  They vowed in loud, ringing voices to defend their kingdom until their last breaths, to govern it well and to care for all their subjects.  The crowns were placed on their heads, and when they rose, the Brother Kings were born.

 

 

*

 

 

When Sam was seventeen, his father came for him and Dean.  Just as every time before, he barged into the palace, face grizzled and clothes worn, and demanded they ready themselves for travel.  Sam opened his mouth to object, but Dean’s hand on his wrist silenced him.  Their father left them to pack, and it was only then that Dean released him and the vitriol he’d been holding in poured forth.

 

At seventeen, Sam hadn’t wanted anything to do with their father, the King in nothing but name.  King John’s quest for revenge had left him a shell of a man; his acidic rage burned him from the inside out until he was just a husk with burning eyes.  Sam resented everything about his father, from his hunting to his neglect.  His father was King, and as King he had duties, to his kingdom _and_ to his children.  All this, Sam said to his brother, but Dean merely shook his head.  “And we have a duty to him,” he retorted, before pushing a saddlebag at Sam.  “We must do as he tells us.”

 

Sam could have cared less about his duty to his father, but his devotion and love for Dean kept him from fighting their father’s summons further.  He packed his hunting clothes with a stiff jaw and resigned himself to weeks of harsh weather and harsher treatment, and to fighting for his life.

 

When he was about to exit his rooms, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder.  Sam looked down at him, still unaccustomed to having surpassed his brother in height.  There was a twinkle in Dean’s eye that made Sam catch his breath.  Dean’s voice was husky as he murmured, “Cooperate with Father.  I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

“Will you let me ride Impala?”  Sam asked, unable to hide a smirk as he played along.

 

“I’ll let you ride _something_ ,” Dean muttered as he slid past Sam, and laughing, Sam followed him.

 

They rode out at dawn, John on Champion, Dean on Impala, and Sam on Colt.  Sam rubbed at his stallion’s neck as Colt tossed his mane against the cold winter’s wind and pranced about.  The differences between the princes and the King was perfectly displayed just through their choice of horses.  Impala and Colt were mother and son, born of the royal line of horse-breeding that dated back centuries.  The Stablemaster called them Friesians, descended from the First King’s own warhorse.

 

John’s horse was from his family’s own line, a mild grey Percheron that had none of the beauty and personality Impala and Colt displayed.  Champion, Sam thought bitterly, was the perfect solider, just like John wanted his sons to be.

 

From his many past hunts with his father, Sam knew not to ask questions or even speak much.  His father would speak to them both when he was well and truly ready, and not before then.  He also did not enjoy Sam and Dean’s ‘chatter’ while he was thinking, so Sam rode beside his brother and kept his head down.

 

Unlike the previous trips they’d made with the King, they did not ride out into the countryside, but instead headed towards the seaside ports.  Perhaps, Sam thought, amusing himself, there was a sea monster they needed to do battle with.  He thought of his brother, armed and drenched, and shivered.

 

By the time the sun had begun to set, the King had taken them into the port town of Duluth Landing.  Sam pulled up the hood of his cloak as his brother and father did the same.  They were riding through the dregs of the port, after all.  It would do no good for them to be sighted and recognized here.

 

They dismounted outside of a pub so dilapidated that the painted name had been worn almost completely off, leaving only the faded letters of R and O behind.  John handed a man lingering outside a purse Sam knew was full of gold coins—the kingdom’s gold, he thought, and gritted his teeth—and instructed the man to watch their horses.  The man bowed low respectfully.  “Your Majesty,” he murmured.

 

Occasionally, he and Dean would sneak out of the castle in common clothes and investigate the pubs and houses of debauchery in the lower city of Lawrence.  Duluth Landing’s old pub was not the first time he had seen a woman of ill repute or heard bawdy language, but this time he was with his father, and he had no idea what John’s intentions might be in exposing them to this lower world.

 

John moved directly to a man lounging in one of the dark corners of the room.  People hushed as they passed, averting their eyes and lowering their gaze.  Sam looked straight over the crowd’s heads, and examined the strange man.  Another purse was thrown on the table in front of the grizzled stranger, and John growled, “A private room.  This will cover them both.”

 

The man’s eyes glanced over Sam and Dean, and he nodded before standing up.  He began moving for the stairs leading up to the second floor of the building, indicating they should follow with a wave of his hand.  Sam kept close to his brother’s side, and couldn’t help murmuring, “Father, what—”

 

“Quiet, Sam,” John snapped, and Sam kept his mouth shut as they were escorted into a room.  There was a flat wooden pallet in the middle of the room, raised up to waist-height.  The man pulled up a chair and small table beside it.  On the table were several instruments that Sam had no desire to investigate further.  Even as Sam thought about grabbing his brother and leaving, John pulled Dean from his side.  “Take your shirt off, Dean.”  

 

Dean sent him a wary look, but did as John asked.  A faint flush came to his cheeks as he removed his cloak, half-armor, tunic, and undershirt.  Finally, he stood bare from the waist up, except for the amulet about his neck and the love-bites bruising his collarbone.

 

John looked upon those marks with displeasure, even though he couldn’t have known where they’d come from.  Apparently he did not like seeing the evidence that his son was embracing the sort of intimacy now lost to him.  The man by the bed chuckled.  “Popular with the ladies, is he?”

 

“It would seem so,” John grunted, and gestured to the wooden pallet.  “Lie down, Dean.”  

 

Still silent and trusting, Dean did as he’d ordered.  From a leather pouch on his belt, John pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to the man.  “This, on both of them.  Over the heart.”  He waited until the man nodded affirmatively before clapping Dean on the shoulder.  “I have business in town,” he announced.  “I’ll be back for you both in a few hours.  It _will_ be done by then, won’t it?”  The last question was clearly directed towards the other man, who nodded once more.  Satisfied, John moved towards the door.

 

“Father!” Sam hissed, and grabbed his arm as he was passing by.  “You can’t just leave us here!  You haven’t even—what are we even doing?”

 

Stony expression painted over his face, the King wrenched his arm away.  “This is for your own good, Sam,” he told him imperiously, not leaving room for any refutal.  “Go sit by your brother, and try not to disrupt William when it is your turn.”

 

With that, the King was gone.  Sam immediately strode back to his brother’s side, feeling slightly queasy when he saw the needles and ink the man—William—was pulling out and onto the table.  He gripped Dean’s hand tightly.  “What are you going to do to us?” he asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

 

William took his time in replying, as he wiped his needles with an old rag.  “Your Daddy’s paid me to give you boys your first tattoo,” he said mildly.  He adjusted things on his table, then looked down at Dean.  “Try not to move, a’right?  Don’t want to mess up the work.”

 

Sam couldn’t watch as William set to work on his brother.  Dean’s hand spasmed in his, and Sam clenched it tight, watching Dean’s face as he gritted his teeth in pain.  It seemed to go on forever, but not once did Dean let a sound past his lips.  It was only once William was done and was wiping his tattoo clean that Dean turned to look at Sam with a tired grin.  “See, Sam?  No big deal.  It’ll be fine.”

 

When it was Sam’s turn on the pallet, he gripped his brother’s hand and let Dean comb his fingers through his hair.  Even though the needle stung him in ways he hadn’t felt before, he refused to make a sound; if Dean hadn’t, neither would he.

 

At the end of the day, they were both left with bloody skin and black pentacles surrounded by a flaming sun.  Sam looked down at the mark on his chest, and then over at his brother’s matching symbol.  Over their hearts, he thought, and Dean grinned once more, as if he could read his thoughts. 

 

 

*

 

 

Rufus Turner had been working in the Royal Stables since he was a boy.  His father had been the Stablemaster there, and it had been well known that Rufus would succeed him.  Rufus liked the horses, after all.  They were simple creatures, once you got to know ‘em.  Just wanted to run and play and mate and eat and sleep.  They wanted to be loved too, and Rufus could give ‘em that.

 

He didn’t like humans near as much.  Humans wanted all sorts of complicated things, and they weren’t as open about what they wanted as horses were.  People tended to expect you to read what they wanted off their face.  And Rufus was plenty good with horses, but he hated having to do that.

 

Children, he liked slightly more, because children spoke their minds.  That was why he didn’t mind the Winchester princes hanging about his stables.  Not that he could have done much if he _did_ mind, but he counted it as a blessing that he didn’t.  Prince Dean had always been interested in the great beasts, and at the young age of six, Prince Sam liked whatever his big brother did.  Rufus became accustomed to having two child-shaped shadows trailing about after him occasionally.  

 

Prince Dean asked questions rarely, preferring to learn by action.  Prince Sam was full of questions, but he didn’t voice any to Rufus.  He stayed by his brother’s side, constantly babbling to him, but the instant Rufus turned around to speak, he clammed right up.  His thumb would pop back into his mouth, and he would watch Rufus with a wary expression.

 

Rufus spoke to Lord Robert about it once.  Robert—Bobby—was an old friend and chief advisor to the King, besides.  He was also in charge of the princes’ education.  Rufus figured if anyone could explain Sam’s behavior, Bobby could.  He asked him one night as they had a late drink in Bobby’s chambers, and the other man had just snorted and shaken his head.  “That’s just how Prince Sam acts with anyone who isn’t his brother,” he’d said gruffly.  “Still does that to me most times, and I’ve known him his whole life.”

 

For his part, Prince Dean did not seem to begrudge giving his little brother the attention he craved.  Never once did he display any irritation towards his constant partner, although he did blush and scowl when Prince Sam insisted on holding his hand.  But he held his hand nevertheless.

 

As Horse Master, Rufus was in charge of the breeding of the Royal Friesian horses.  He took great pains in matching the mares and stallions and was there for every birthing.  At one such birth, he was accompanied by the young princes.  The mare was outside and had refused to move, so Rufus had gone to her.  He had attempted to convince the princes to stay in the stables, where it was warm, but Dean would have none of it.  As a result, the two princes and a handful of stable lads were there to watch the first foal of the season be born.

 

It was an easy birthing, the mare pushing the foal out with little trouble.  Rufus was the first to touch the young filly, and his heart sank when he saw the white star on her forehead.  The Friesians rarely had any white on them at all, and to have the strange color in such a shape…

 

Sure enough, one of the stablehands saw the marking and instantly recoiled.  “Demon horse,” he spat, and the other lads began clamoring their agreement.  “Be best just to break its neck.”

 

“Wait,” a voice came imperiously, and Prince Dean of Winchester stepped forward, a frown on his young brow.  “What reason have you to kill the filly?”

 

The stablehand who had initially spoken sketched out a rough bow.  “She wears the mark of the Devil, your Highness.  She has to be put down.”

 

“The mark of the Devil,” Prince Dean repeated, and brushed his fingers over the filly’s forehead.  “Does she?”  He turned piercing eyes to all the other people there.  “It looks to me like the pentacle of the Winchester family, does it not?”

 

There was a general widening of eyes, and everyone looked back down at the symbol on the filly’s forehead.  “I suppose it does look rather like a pentacle…” One of the stablehands said hesitantly, and the rest of them reluctantly agreed.  Under the Prince’s hard gaze, all of them gradually ambled away until it was just Rufus, the two boys, and the horses.

 

“I didn’t realize you were in the habit of letting your stablehands murder innocent creatures,” the Prince said once they were alone, and his voice was frosty.  

 

“People are very superstitious, sir,” Rufus replied, keeping his voice steady, even as he felt the Prince’s judgment weighing on him.  “If I had tried to stop them, I would have lost their trust.”

 

“Justice and mercy are more important than trust,” Prince Dean said firmly and he knelt to stroke the filly, eyes cold.  “But since you are so worried about your men’s reactions to this creature, make it known that she is mine.  Anyone who dares to harm her will suffer my wrath.”

 

The boy was only ten years old.  The threat should not have sent shivers down Rufus’s spine.  It should not have, but when Prince Dean turned to look at him, he swallowed his words and nodded.  “Yes, your Highness.”

 

After that day, the princes never followed Rufus around the stables again.

 

 

 

 

There was a knight wandering through her forest.  She darted behind trees to watch him, in awe at the way the moonlit forest complimented his unearthly beauty.  He looked like he should be born of the high fae, instead of by mortal-folk, as he obviously was.  She smiled to herself as she caught a glimpse of his firm legs encased in riding trousers.  She had previously scorned the other dryads for taking mortal lovers, but she thought she might make an exception for this one.

 

She darted out in front of his horse, which reared backwards in surprise.  “Oh!” She cried, distressed to have caused such panic, and moved to comfort the beast, only to have it prance back even further, angrily huffing.  The moonlight glinted off of steel as the knight drew his sword and pointed it at her.  “What are you?” He asked harshly.

 

Quailing under his gaze, she ducked her head, hiding behind her long red hair.  “I am the dryad Anna, good knight.  I did not mean to alarm you.”

 

The knight did not relax, but instead seemed to draw himself up even straighter.  “You are fae then,” he said, and Anna nodded eagerly.  A dark frown stole over his face, and his hand clenched around his horse’s reins.  “Are you the one who has spirited my brother away?”

 

Anna’s eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically.  “Oh, no, sir!” She cried.  “I would never do so to anyone.”  She hesitated, then dared venture a little closer, drawn in by the gleam of the man’s green eyes.  “He has been taken?”

 

Shortly, the knight nodded.  “We were camped just outside of the wood.  I went to gather kindling for our fire, and when I returned, he was gone.”  Despite divulging these details, his voice grew no warmer, and she shrank under the weight of it when he asked, “Why did you appear so in front of me, if you have nothing to do with my brother’s disappearance?”

 

Anna flushed, and looked up coyly through her lashes.  “I had wondered if you might wish to lie with me, sir knight.  I am very lonely, and your form is very pleasing to me.”

 

Her earnest flirtations had no more effect than any of her earlier words had.  Instead, the knight stiffened further.  “You thought to seduce me, then,” he stated.

 

Once more, Anna attempted to move closer, only to have the knight’s horse neigh angrily at her again.  She stumbled a few steps back, then bit her lip.  “I did not… I only meant to ask if you wished to.”  She paused, moving her hair back so that the knight could see the full impact of her nude body.  She knew she was not ill-looking.  “Most men do not say no.  But if you do not think me becoming...”

 

It was her last words that finally softened the knight’s icy exterior.  “It is not a matter of finding you becoming,” he said gently, and his eyes did not stray from her face.  “I’m afraid I am promised to another.  And even if I were not, I could not think of satisfying my lusts while my brother is still held captive.”

 

“You are very noble, sir knight,” Anna said admiringly.  “Your lady is a very fortunate woman.”

 

His mouth curved into a bemused smile.  “My lady,” he said oddly, then shook his head with a chuckle.  “My lady will feel much more fortunate if I can rescue my brother quickly and return with him to our home.”  He spared Anna a nod, gathering up his horse’s reins so they could ride once more.

 

“Wait!” she said quickly, remembering not to rush forward in her haste this time.  “The forest is very dangerous for mortals to be riding in without a guide.  Let me come with you, and I will help to find your brother.”

 

The knight’s head tilted to the side, and he examined her shrewdly.  “I am not in the habit of associating with any sort of fae,” he said.  “Tell me why I should trust you, Anna the dryad.”  

 

Anna looked up at him seriously, clasping her hands in front of her.  “I swear upon my own life that I wish you no ill,” she said solemnly.  “And you will travel better with me at your side.  I can listen to the whispers of the forest and help to find your brother, if you will take me with you.”

 

The mention of his brother spurred the knight forward.  He unclasped his cloak from where it was chained about his neck and tossed it to her.  “Clothe yourself,” he ordered firmly.  “And then you can ride behind me on Impala and lead me to my brother.”  Anna nodded and began fixing the cloak around her only to freeze at the knight’s next words.  “But be warned that if you betray me, I will not hesitate to cut off your head.”

 

Looking into his eyes, Anna believed him.  She kept quiet as she listened to the murmurs of the forest, and directed the knight to where two naiads were attempting to have their way with a tall, brown-haired knight, who spurned them at every turn.  The fury on the face of her knight when he saw how his brother was being treated was more than Anna could stand.  Before she could stop him, he was swinging his sword against her river sisters, making the naiads hiss and disappear into the water with wounded cries.  “You did not have to hurt them!” Anna said, distraught.

 

The knight turned back to her for one moment, and his eyes were the harshest steel.  “They took my brother,” he said.  “They did not deserve my pity.”

 

Anna melted back into the forest as she watched the two brothers reunite, hands clasping each other’s arms and pulling each other in.  Her knight’s face was tender as he ran his hand across his brother’s cheek.  “Don’t do that to me again,” he said gruffly, and his brother laughed before leaning down to press their foreheads together.

 

Anna left then.  It was not a moment for her to see.

 

 

*

 

 

Lord Robert Singer, known as Bobby to close friends, had been elevated to his position as Lord Chancellor by Queen Mary.  The son of a drunken yeoman, no one had ever expected Bobby to amount to much.  However, he’d had an able mind and willingness to learn, so he’d been educated by the church.  He’d begun his work in the royal household as a secretary.  It was the Queen who had seen his notes on the margin of some battle plans and realized his potential.

 

While the other nobles had looked down on him for his lesser birth, the Queen had merely smiled.  “Birth is not an indication of intelligence,” she’d said once.  “I’d rather surround myself with those that have good sense and a quick wit, than those that would rather flatter than think.”

 

Bobby had made sure to pass those words onto her sons, once they were old enough.  He’d encouraged them to learn to think for themselves and to associate with those that would better them.  Much to his gratification, when they’d been crowned, the Kings had taken his words to heart.

 

The Kings’ Council was a much more eclectic group than it had ever been before, even in Queen Mary’s day.  The Brother Kings seemed to collect people like coins.  They were constantly bringing in new minds, from the young scholar Kevin, who they’d found studying to be a monk, to the mathematical genius Charlie, a female who had disguised herself as a man in order to learn.  They paid no mind to status, gender, or circumstances, it seemed, and Bobby had given up trying to reign them in.  The nobles might grumble, but the Winchesters were the Kings, after all.  None would dare to act against them.

 

The Council met daily, but the kings themselves attended only sporadically.  When their presence was necessary, they always managed to appear, but most other times, they only appeared once or twice a week.  

 

Bobby had attempted to convince them to dress formally when they did attend, but his efforts had been in vain.  Sometimes King Sam, more given to formality than his brother, did so.  King Dean had always adamantly refused.  Often, he showed up in his tight hunting clothes with a sword always at his hip.  Compared to the formality Bobby required for the rest of the Council, the brothers always seemed darker, harder.

 

It made some members of the Council afraid to speak to them at times, especially when the topic was so clearly distasteful to the Kings.  Bobby watched King Dean’s lip curl upwards into a sneer as Lady Ellen continued her speech.  Luckily, Ellen was hardier than some of the youngsters, and did not waver in her words.  

 

“A marriage would ensure the security of the realm,”  Ellen said, sure in herself and her point.  There was an air about her that made her seem almost queenly, and Bobby watched her with a small, fond smile.  “Unwed, there are those that might challenge you and your rule, your Majesties.  A bride, and the children from that union, would not only provide a political alliance, but cement your rule over the land.”

 

King Dean leaned forward, as if to speak, but his brother stopped him with a hand on his arm.  King Sam looked up at Lady Ellen with his cool, slanted eyes.  Bobby steeled himself.  Sam did not speak as much as his brother did, but when he did, it was clear and to-the-point.  “You speak of stability in the realm, Lady Ellen.  We are of the mind that stability should not come from the sort of marriage-alliances that you speak of, but from a firm ruling hand and attentiveness to the needs of the people.  Do you feel we are not supplying that?”

 

Even as far from her as he was, Bobby could see Ellen’s jaw tighten.  “No, your Majesties.”

 

The younger King cocked his head to the side and crossed his fingers.  “Then we fail to see why your Ladyship would bring up the matter.”  His eyes strayed over to where Bobby was sitting, looking upon him with a shrewd gaze.  “Unless, of course, there is something you have not yet mentioned.”

 

Despite the protests of his aching bones, Bobby pushed himself up to stand before his Kings.  He gave a short bow, then looked at them directly.  He had erred in having Ellen speak instead of addressing the matter himself.  The Kings—both of them, but especially Sam—did not enjoy subterfuge.  “The King of the land to the East has proposed a marriage between King Dean and Princess Lisa.  She is his only heir, and it would unite our kingdoms.”

 

Dean snorted, leaning back further in his chair.  Somehow, even slumped as he was, he still managed to maintain his kingly air.  His voice was dismissive as he spoke.  “We have no need for more land.  The integration of the eastern land would be more trouble than it is worth.   They hold no resources we need, nor are they very wealthy.  We fail to see how this would be advantageous to us.”

 

Bobby crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised an eyebrow.  “If your Majesties have no interest in more land or wealth, perhaps one of you will agree to marry into one of the noble families.  There are plenty of eligible ladies and duchesses.  Lady Ruby of Lilith is the perfect age—”

 

“Again, we fail to see the benefit in such a marriage,”  King Dean interrupted.  Unlike his brother’s, Dean’s eyes were blazing.  “If we had an interest in wedding, we would have made it clear to you, our Council.  We do not.”

 

“The benefit, your Majesties,” Bobby said, letting his voice grow in volume, “is heirs.”  He watched the boys for any visible reaction, but he had taught them perhaps too well; their faces were impassive.  “If you remain unwed, the kingdom will have no heir to the throne.  There are no others from your direct line.  Upon your deaths, the realm will be tossed into chaos.  Your Majesties, you _must_ see my reasoning.”

 

Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam, and it was King Sam that answered.  “We do,” he said, voice just as controlled and unshaken as before.  “And we understand that it is our Council’s job to consider such things.  But we ask you to remember that there are many years left until our deaths, God willing.  Neither of us are yet in our thirtieth year, so we see no cause for alarm.”

 

Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but King Dean spoke before he could.  “If you are so concerned about our health, we will name a temporary heir from our line that shall inherit the throne, if we pass on before we have sired children.”  He stood, a smooth, unrolling movement that put Bobby in mind of the panthers of legend.  “If that is all our Council has to say to us, then we are done.”

 

The rest of the Council looked to Bobby, but he merely bowed his head.  “Yes, your Majesties.”  He watched as the boys he’d raised swept out of the room, just as regal as he’d always known they’d be.  

 

Lady Ellen came up beside him, and they both stared at the door for a moment.  She laid a hand on his arm.  “I sometimes wonder if we ought to have…”  

 

She did not finish her thought, but Bobby knew full well what she was speaking of.  He remembered how they had fought, years and years ago, to keep either prince from being engaged to a foreign princess, and how they had always ensured that the brothers could remain together.  He thought of the Kings’ closeness, how they had never really allowed Bobby to know them completely, always too attached to each other to let anyone else in.  Sorrow welling in his gut, he nodded slowly.  “I as well,” he said, and then there was nothing more to say.

 

 

*

 

 

The mare named Impala had lived in the same stall in the same stable her whole life.  During all that time, she had never served more than one master.  Her master, Dean, was kind and generous, always sneaking her carrots and grooming her himself instead of leaving her to the stablehands.  Some of the other horses rarely saw their masters, but Impala saw hers near every day.

 

From the moment she’d been big enough to carry him, Dean had invested his time and energy in her training.  Little more than a yearling himself, Dean came to her every day, small front hooves tender against her.  He taught her how to carry him, what every flick of the reins and every nudge of his rear hooves meant.  Under his care, she flowered.

 

Some of the stablehands did not like her much.  Impala knew these things.  They reeked of fear around her and watched her with hateful glances, but Dean, small as he was, protected her, and he did not forget her as he grew from a foal to a stallion himself.

 

He trusted her, and she prided herself in that.  When the time came for his own foal, little Sammy, to learn how to ride, he placed him on Impala’s back.  She was gentle and patient with the tiny creature on her back, even when he pulled the reins too hard or failed to direct her as needed.  After a day of training, Dean and his Sammy were always there to rub her down, groom her, and feed her.  She was never happier than when the two of them were near her.

 

As she grew older, she began to experience the lusts and needs of a mare.  Some of the other horses in the stable spoke of breeding and of little foals.  Impala loved her boys, her brave master and his little one, but she began to long for a foal of her own.

 

Her master, as attentive as always, must have sensed this, for one day, he led her to the breeding room.  She had seen many mares and stallions come out of the room, smelling of life and fulfillment.  She whinnied her joy, even as they were positioning her and leading the stallion in.

 

She did not know the stallion that bred her, and did not ever see him again after their mating.  He had quenched the thirst inside of her, so she always thought of him fondly, especially after it was clear that she was carrying a foal in her belly.  

 

Little Sammy marveled over her rounded stomach once she began to show.  “You’ve seen pregnant horses before, Sammy,” Dean would tell him, when he refused to leave Impala’s side.

 

The child would only bare his teeth in a gesture Impala instinctively recognized as friendly and warm.  “None of them were _Impala_ , Dean,” he would answer, and would spend the rest of the day smoothing his front hooves over her aching flesh.  It was on one such day that Impala’s water broke.

 

Prior to the birth, Impala had spoken with the other mares about labor.  She knew what to expect, from the pain to the swarms of interested humans, but Dean did not let anyone into her stall except himself, Sammy, and the leader of the stable.  The dark, grizzled man was not part of their small herd, but she knew he was responsible for her four-legged brethren, so she did not stiffen in alarm when he came near.

 

Birthing her foal was just as intense and painful as she had been told to expect, but in the end, she brought a healthy colt into the world.  Her sides were heaving from exertion, even as she struggled to see her foal.

 

He was lovely, all black except for a shock of white around his hooves.  She nickered at him, and her heart burst with joy as he cried feebly in return.  Little Sammy was crouched by her baby, and Impala knew he was safe.

 

“Happy birthday, Sammy,” Dean murmured.

 

Sammy turned to him with wide eyes.  “It’s not my birthday, Dean.”

 

“No,” Dean replied, and his cheeks dappled red.  “But it will be soon.  And I thought… you need a horse of your own.”  He nudged his front quarters against Sammy’s.  “Impala’s foal… he’s yours.”

 

“Mine?”  Sammy repeated, and glanced over at Impala’s colt with wide eyes.  “My horse?”

 

“Yes,” Dean said, and bared his teeth.  “Yours.”

 

Sammy flung his front legs around Dean’s breast.  “Thank you, Dean!”  Impala blinked in contentment a few times, as her colt nuzzled up against her and began to nurse.  The master of the stable had gone, so it was only their herd left, safe and warm, in the stall Impala had lived in her whole life.

 

“What will you name him?” Dean asked, and Impala opened her eyes, waiting to hear her foal’s christening.

 

Sammy bit at his bottom lip, shifting his hooves on the ground.  “I’m not sure…”  He peered up at Dean through the fringe of his mane.  “Can we just call him Colt for now?”

 

A simple name, Impala thought, but a good one, and she let her head fall back on the ground.  

 

Despite attempts to change it later, Impala’s foal remained Colt for the rest of his days, and became a wild and tempestuous stallion.  He lived in the stall next to Impala, and whenever Dean came to see her, Sammy came to see Colt.  Sammy, who was no longer a foal himself, but had become a full grown stallion in his own right.  Together, the four of them rode, their own little herd.

 

 

*

 

 

The sky was filled with Ash.  It painted the ground and sky grey, and was speckled across Colt’s hide.  The smoke made it hard to breathe, but nonetheless, Sam pushed on, gritting his teeth and thrusting his sword at the beast.  He scored a strike on its tender underbelly, and the dragon let out a cry.  

 

“Nice blow, Sammy!”  Dean cried out, barely short of breath, even though they had been raging against the dragon for many minutes past.  He was dusted in ash as well, but the white gleam of his savage grin cut through the darkness.  He swung his sword in a solid arc while Sam had the beast distracted and managed to cut its tail in two.

 

Sam pulled on Colt’s reins, hurriedly urging him backwards as the dragon spun around, stubbed tail still a danger to them both.  He could hear the rasp in the dragon’s breath as it built up to unleashing fire, and rode forward with desperate speed.  Ducking under the beast’s clawing front legs, he plunged his sword into its chest, just as red began to glow from its open maw.

 

No sooner had he struck then the dragon was bellowing in rage, ruby wings flaring wide as it spasmed with its last breaths.  Sam yanked his sword free of its chest and urged Colt backwards, towards his brother and safety.  They had only just managed to duck behind some standing rocks when the dragon gave its final fiery cry and then fell silent.  

 

They waited for a few minutes to ensure the beast was dead, and then they both dismounted.  Dean immediately came to clasp his forearms, brotherly pride clear in his voice.  “You’ve vanquished a dragon, Sammy.  Quite the heroic knight.”  

 

The words ruffled Sam’s hair, and he let out a quiet laugh as he pulled back.  “I did not do it singlehandedly,” he replied, and looked fondly upon his brother’s dirtied face.  It was still a face any lady would swoon over, noble or not.  He rubbed a finger over his brother’s cheek, smearing ash over golden freckles.  “It was you who distracted the beast.”

 

“And you who gave it the final blow,” Dean breathed, clasping his shoulder.  “We are both heroes today, brother.”

 

There was the dragon carcass to be dealt with, and the nearby town they’d caught the dragon ravaging would need money for repairs.  Both of them had dented mail and several wounds, and Impala had rolled her ankle, it would appear.  They would need to head back to Lawrence as soon as possible to handle it all.  

 

For the moment, however, they had just slain the dragon and they could be heroes.

 

 

 

 

 

Max’s Ma was not a nice woman.  No one in the rest of the village thought so either, though they didn’t say it to her face.  While Max’s Pa and his older siblings were out working in the fields, Max’s Ma liked to frequent the local tavern and drink ale until Max had to ask for help to get her home.

 

Miss Ava lived the closest to the Millers’ house, and she had a fondness for Max.  After his Ma was back home, he’d go over to Miss Ava’s and she’d let him play on the floor while she made dinner for her new husband.  She didn’t complain that Max was too loud.  She said she liked the sound of his laugh.

 

Once her husband got home, though, Max had to go back to his house, where his Pa and siblings would be just arriving.  His Pa would realize there was nothing on the table and yell until his Ma woke up, while one of his sisters made something with what little they had in the house.  His parents would yell and yell and yell until Max’s ears ached.  

 

He never asked them to stop, though.  He learned his lesson when his Pa boxed his ears the one time he did.

 

On days his Ma didn’t drink, she spent a lot of time moving stomping around their house, alternately angry when she could see Max and when she couldn’t.  She liked to hit him with her wooden spoon if he did something that made her mad.  Max tried very hard not to make her mad, and never quite succeeded.

 

One day, his Ma woke up and she was all cold.  Max had always been frightened of his mother’s rage, but now he was frightened of her silence.  She moved quieter and faster than she had before, and when she smiled at him, he felt like a deer before a hunter.  She stopped going to the tavern so much and started doing things about the village.  It made Max’s Pa happy, and he wouldn’t listen, no matter how many times Max told him there was something wrong.

 

Max shut up after his Pa belted his back.  That was before the dead bodies.

 

Miss Ava and her new husband were found dead in their house, organs ripped right out of their bodies.  Max was the one to find them.  He screamed, voided his stomach on the ground, and then he ran to tell the priest, who alerted everyone in the village.  That Sunday at church, the priest said there was a demon among them.

 

Two men came riding into town soon after that.  They rode in on big, black horses, so different than the dusty old plow horses Max was used to.  They looked everywhere with cold eyes and started asking lots of questions.  When Max’s Ma saw them, she grabbed his hand and pulled him away fast.

 

“Who are they?” He asked one of his older brothers, but it was his Pa that answered.

 

“They’re the Brother Kings,” his Pa said.  “They’re here to drive away the demon.  So you be good and keep out of their way.”

 

Max had liked Miss Ava and her husband, though, and he wanted the demon who had killed them dead, so he started trailing after the Kings, following them about the town whenever he could get away from his Ma.  They didn’t look like Kings to him.  They didn’t have any of the jewels or rich clothes that Kings were supposed to, but they stood with their heads very tall, and spoke in clear, ringing voices, which almost made up for it.

 

They caught him one day, when he was following them.  The shorter one held the back of his shirt in one hand and looked at him with amusement.  “What cause have you to be trailing after us, child?  You must have duties at home to attend to.”

 

Max fisted his hands into little balls.  “I want to help you find the demon that killed Miss Ava,” he said, and the Kings exchanged glances.  “She was my only friend.”

 

The shorter King released him, and knelt down in front of him with a soft smile.  “It is commendable that you would think to avenge the lady’s death.  But your mother will be worrying if you are not home, won’t she?”

 

“No she won’t!”  Max protested.  “She doesn’t like it when she sees me.  It makes her mad.  Besides…”  He hesitated, but the green-eyed King seemed like a trustworthy man.  “She’s been scary lately.”

 

The taller one seemed to take an interest in him for the first time.  “Scary?  How is she frightening, child?”

 

Chewing at his lower lip, Max shuffled his feet.  “Before, Ma would always go to the tavern a lot, but she doesn’t anymore.  Her hands are cold and she always smells bad.  And, when she smiles, she shows all of her teeth.  Like this.”  Max demonstrated, and waited until the Kings looked suitably impressed before relaxing his face.  “I don’t like being alone with her.”

 

“No, I imagine not,” the tall King murmured, and looked at his companion.  “Dean?”

 

“I think so too,” King Dean replied, standing up and brushing off his pants.  It didn’t make any sense to Max, but it didn’t matter when Dean smiled down at him.  “Why don’t you take us to your house, child?  We would like to speak with your mother.”

 

Max’s Ma screamed when the Kings came to her door, and her eyes turned a frighteningly flat black color.  Max watched with fearful eyes through the open door as the Brother Kings subdued her, and black smoke poured forth from her mouth.  At last, she collapsed back on the floor, blood rushing out of her from a wound in her stomach.

 

The tall King knelt down beside her, put his fingers to her neck, and frowned.  “She’s gone.”

 

The Brother Kings waited for Max’s Pa to get home to tell him his wife was dead, before riding out of town on their big black horses.  Max’s Ma was buried the day after in the church cemetery.  Max never visited her grave.

 

 

*

 

 

Dean’s bed was just as familiar to Sam as his own.  Even in childhood, they had often shared their rooms interchangeably.  Dean’s rooms were Sam’s rooms; Sam’s were Dean’s.  As they grew older, the others around them no longer found such behavior acceptable, so they moved to two sets of rooms with a hidden door in between them, with no one any wiser to it.

 

It was through that door that Sam went, the evening they returned hunting a witch in the marshes.  They’d nearly been overcome by her before finally subduing and burning her to ash.

 

Dean’s skin was still damp when Sam arrived, and Sam found himself disappointed that he had missed his brother bathing.  However, the sight of the loose white nightshirt clinging to the wet patches of Dean’s skin was pleasing as well, and Sam was already half-hard when his brother turned to him.

 

Dean eyed the bulge in his leather riding pants with a knowing smirk.  “You are eager this evening, brother,” he said, in the same teasing tone he used whenever Sam did anything even slightly embarrassing.  Sam flushed under it, even as Dean moved closer to palm his cock through the leather.  “It has not been that long.”

 

“You are not unaware of how you look, Dean,” Sam stated, voice hoarse.  His brother’s form, damp or not, was always alluring to him.  “Just as you are not unaware of my own feelings for you.  Such talk seeks to garner compliments you are already know I will give.”

 

One of Dean’s hands slipped up to fist in Sam’s hair, tugging Sam’s head slightly backward so he could run his lips along the cool expanse of Sam’s neck.  Sam swallowed, and knew his brother could see it.  Sure enough, Dean chuckled huskily against his skin.  “Flattery is the surest way beneath a lady’s skirts, Sam.  Have you not learnt this yet?”

 

Dean bit at the junction of his shoulder and his neck, and Sam shuddered with it.  “You are not a lady,” he whispered, and felt Dean smile against his skin.

 

“No, I am not,” his brother replied, before turning them both so that Sam landed on his bed with a thump.  Dean wasted no time with frivolities, merely pulling Sam’s clothes off as he willed, before shucking his own sheer covering.  Naked before him, Dean was brilliant, and he was even more so when he leaned down to kiss Sam on the lips.

 

“Brother!” Sam cried as Dean laid himself atop him, bringing their bodies into perfect alignment, and hitched Sam’s leg over his waist.  It was a favorite position of Dean’s, for he loved having Sam spread out and open under him.  Though he claimed to prefer having Sam on his stomach, Sam was quite sure that Dean enjoyed the ability to kiss him soundly that this position provided.  His brother, while forceful and commanding in bed, was always loving, whether he would admit it or not.

 

They rubbed up against each other for a while, before the warm pleasure in Sam’s abdomen made him feel the need for more.  He pulled his brother closer, hoping Dean would sense his building urgency.  As his tongue tangled with Dean’s, he felt his brother reach out to their bedside cabinet and fumble something out.  

 

“Shhh,” Dean crooned, and his hand came back, slick with oil, to rub against Sam’s hole.  Sam rolled his hips into it, which only led Dean to pull his hand back.  Sam scowled at him, but Dean merely chuckled.  “All in due time,” he said, and went back to rubbing his fingers against the tight muscle.

 

Sam was well versed in his brother’s form of teasing, how Dean delighted in drawing Sam’s pleasure out as long as he could.  There were all sorts of wooden toys in their bedside cabinet that had been discretely crafted, to allow Dean to tease Sam without entering him himself.  Sometimes, he would even make Sam wear one of the small plugs for hours at a time, delighting in the rosy red hue Sam’s cheeks took on as he struggled to hide his pleasure in public.

 

However, they were both weary, so Sam did not think he had too much to worry about there.  Dean wanted in him just as much as he wanted Dean there.  A crafted cock would not do tonight; only his brother’s would.

 

Two of Dean’s fingers slipped within him at once, massaging the inside of his body with a steady, circular motion.  Sam turned his head to the side, panting a little, and rode the feeling as best he could, letting his hips work to further it, while Dean kissed down his neck to press a wet lick to his tattoo.  Just as always, the gesture warmed something inside of Sam and he let out a soft groan.

 

Impatient with the leisurely way Dean was touching him, Sam bucked up slightly, until Dean’s cock brushed against the now-wet hole of his entrance.  “I am more than ready, brother.  Why do you make us both wait?”

 

Dean turned his head back so he could kiss him with crushing force, before pulling away with a slight smirk.  He tugged at Sam’s lip slightly with his teeth before releasing him.  “Perhaps I want to hear you beg, Sammy.”  The name sent a rush of heat through Sam, and his cheeks turned an even darker hue of red.  Dean grinned wider at the sight, and thrust his fingers inside with more force than he had before.  “Or perhaps I want to see you spread out, flushed, and panting for me.”

 

“You’d see that much more quickly if you would enter me,” Sam grumbled, but he let Dean continue to play his body like a lute, another finger slipping inside.  Dean caressed his body, rubbing him and teasing him as he lingered on areas that sparked particular arousal inside Sam.  Sam was afraid he was just as reddened and winded as Dean had threatened he would be when Dean’s fingers were finally removed.

 

He whimpered at their loss, the momentary emptiness overcoming the knowledge of what would next come for a minute.  His chest was heaving slightly as Dean pulled his legs up over his shoulders and slowly began to push inside.

 

Sam was accustomed to the weight of Dean’s cock inside of him, and his body did not need much urging to relax.  The rolling thrusts Dean gave him made his body far more desperate than any other’s could; he could not imagine another being able to handle his body with the same reverence and lust that Dean could.  Indeed, he had never even entrusted his body to another in such a way.  Dean was the only one he had ever taken to his bed.

 

He knew the same was not true for Dean, but he could believe it was when his brother kissed him so fiercely.  Dean’s hands pressed bruises into Sam’s thighs as he held him in place, and Sam craved those marks as he did nothing else.  Unseen beneath his kingly clothing would be the gentle wounds Dean had given him.  The thought of it made Sam’s body quake, and he clutched his brother even closer.

 

“Always so eager,” Dean murmured against his lips.  “You enjoy this far more than I ever could have imagined.  So perfect for me.”  Dean’s words were breaking up as he pushed himself faster, harder, inside of Sam.  Sam held onto him and let out his own stunted moans and cries to urge him forward.  He wanted what Dean wanted—their mutual pleasure—and Dean would give it to him.

 

“I cannot—” Dean rasped out, and then his body shook as he came.  Sam watched his face in joy, loving the ecstasy that spread across it, the way it made his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth fall open.  Even mid-orgasm, Dean kept pushing his hips forward, as if he could get closer to Sam than he already was.  It was only when he was finished that he removed his cock from Sam’s body and crawled down the sheets to place his lips on Sam’s manhood.

 

Dean’s lips slipped over the head of Sam’s cock, and Sam’s hands flew instinctively to grasp at his brother’s head.  “Dean!” He moaned, only to have Dean shush him before taking him deeper into his throat.  He was already well on his way to coming from the heat and suction of Dean’s mouth when a few of Dean’s fingers crept up to toy with his hole.  Sam’s hips lurched upward and he wailed out as he came.

 

When the fog of orgasm lessened slightly, Sam blinked and found himself safely curled in his brother’s arms.  He turned to Dean, brushing his lips against his brother’s, and tasted his own seed upon them.  Dean nuzzled closer, and they fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, the same way they had for as long as Sam could remember.

 

 

*

 

 

King John of Winchester was born from the Milligan line of lords, so it was to the Milligan line that the Brother Kings turned in search of an heir.  Lord Adam of Milligan was thirty-four years of age when he received a missive from his cousins, the Kings, that they would soon be arriving at his manor in order to discuss matters of some importance.

 

Adam had long been preparing for this day.  At the young age of one-and-twenty, he had wed Lady Joanna of the house of Harvelle, another prominent noble family in Winchester.  He had sired four sons and one daughter, and had paid the finest scholars of the land to tutor them in the arts and sciences.  He himself had been granted a seat on the Kings’ Council when he was eight-and-twenty.  Even so, nerves clamored in his stomach as he waited to greet his cousins.

 

The Kings arrived that evening with their usual lack of fanfare.  No knights rode with them, even though both men had over forty years under their belts.  The Brother Kings were just as deadly in their middle age as they had been in their youth.  From the top of the steps leading up to his manor, Adam watched them dismount in synchronized, fluid motions and walk as one over to where he and his family were standing.

 

“Your Majesties,” Adam murmured, and bowed low, just as Jo curtsied deeply at his side.  He felt a moment of trepidation as the Kings raised them up and King Dean greeted Jo with fondness.  Jo had made no secret of her youthful attraction to the King, even though he had never expressed any interest in wedding her.  

 

As if sensing his fear, Jo placed one of her dainty hands on his arm as she smiled at their guests.  “Your Majesties, we are so honored to have you.  Surely, you are tired from your long ride.  We have rooms set up—”

 

King Dean smiled slightly, a slight tugging of his lips.  Adam noted the grey that had crept in at his temples and the creases on his handsome face, sure signs of his age.  “We thank you for your hospitality, Lady Milligan, but we will not be staying long.  We have only come to confer briefly with your husband, and then we will be off again.”  The King exchanged a brief look with his brother, a twinkling in his eyes, then turned his still-piercing gaze to Adam as the amusement faded away.  “Do you have a place where the three of us may talk without interruption, Lord Milligan?”

 

Thrown slightly off balance, Adam glanced quickly over at his wife before pulling himself together.  “Yes, of course, your Majesties.  I will take you there directly.”  He led the Brother Kings up to secluded study in the western tower of the house.  Embarrassed by the mess, he quickly attempted to clear off his desk.  “I apologize that the room has not been cleaned for you, but I did not anticipate its use—”

 

“You needn’t worry about such things,” King Sam said, as he and his brother arranged themselves in two of the armchairs.  He gestured leisurely at the third chair set in front of the fireplace.  “Come.  Sit.  We have much to discuss, cousin.”

 

A shiver ran up Adam’s spine at the familiarity and affection of the term.  He and his kingly cousins had never been close, for various reasons.  Adam, after all, had been raised in the countryside, and had not ventured to court for more than a few days until he was sixteen years of age.  By the time he came there regularly, the brothers had been crowned, and the sort of companionship they might have developed with Adam before became impossible to achieve.  He sat across from them, feeling impossibly young, even though the younger King was only seven or so years older than he was.  “You spoke of urgent matters to discuss.”

 

The Kings exchanged a glance, full of meaning and understanding wrought from a lifetime of closeness.  It was King Sam that spoke, his hazel eyes flickering almost yellow in the light of the fire.  “It cannot come as a surprise that we have decided to name you our heir.”  

 

He paused, and it took a few moments for Adam to realize he was waiting for an answer.  Adam swallowed, and said humbly, “I did not wish to assume…”

 

“Nonsense.”  King Dean waved a hand, slight irritation flitting over his face.  “You wed into one of the highest born families in the realm and began integrating yourself into politics at a very young age.  You have had five children in the space of thirteen years, all of whom are educated nearly as well as we were.”  The King arched an eyebrow, lips quirking upwards.  “Are you saying you did that for no reason at all?”

 

Flushing, Adam stuttered out, “N-no, but I—”

 

“Oh, don’t torment the boy, Dean,” King Sam cut him off with an eyeroll at his brother, an astonishingly childish moment.  He turned back to Adam with a small smile.  “You were right to assume, Lord Adam.  You are our closest living relative, and your family and connections make you perfect to name as our heir.”  King Sam crossed his fingers together, and hitched them over his knee.  “At this point, neither of us are likely to marry and sire an heir ourselves, but we find ourselves content in leaving the throne to your capable hands.”  There was a small pause as both Kings eyed Adam astutely, before King Sam continued, “We mean to name you and your descendants as our heirs tomorrow.  If you accept, of course.”

 

“If I accept?” Adam repeated dumbly, and shook his head.  “I do not understand, your Majesty.”

 

“No one should be forced to rule if they do not wish to,” King Sam answered.  “We would give you the choice.  If the responsibility is too much for you…”  The King trailed off, looking at Adam expectantly.

 

“No, no!”  Adam blurted out, throwing his hands up.  “No, I… I would be honored to be named your heir, your Majesties.  I can only hope to bear the burden with honor.”

 

The younger King gave him a small smile.  “I’m sure you will, cousin.”  Both Kings rose, and Adam scrambled to do so as well, feeling the full weight of their presence upon him.  “We are glad to have your acceptance.  With that in hand, we must leave immediately, if we wish to make the proclamation tomorrow.”

 

“Your Majesties,” Adam murmured once more and bowed, watching from his submissive position as the two sets of boots strode firmly out of the room.

 

It was only minutes later that he was able to pull himself together and descend from his study to speak to his wife and children.  Jo looked up at him, worry clear on her face.  “Did it…”  She trailed off, and glanced towards the front of the house.  “The Kings left in such a hurry.”

 

He smiled and pulled her into his arms, kissing her lightly upon the lips.  “They wished to be at the palace tomorrow in order to proclaim myself and our children their heirs.”

 

Jo let out a joyous cry, and flung her arms around him.  He held her tightly, even as his mind whirled.

 

 

*

 

 

“The Two Brothers”, a fairytale, as told by Dean Winchester to his brother, Sam Winchester:

 

_Once upon a time, two boys lived alone in a big tower with only one window and no doors.  The tower was guarded by an evil dragon with yellow eyes, and he never let the boys outside, not to play or run or anything.  The boys grew up in that tower, all alone except for each other._

 

_For you see, the boys were the sons of a King and Queen of a far away land.  The King and Queen were very much in love, and had loved their children just as much until the dragon came and took them away.  The younger brother was too small to remember their parents, but the older one always told him about their mother’s golden hair and warm smile, as well as their father’s strength and courage._

 

_Sometimes the brothers fought, because one of them liked to fight and practice with his sword, while the other always wanted to read.  It annoyed both brothers when the other wanted to do something without them.  It was times like these that they longed for the world outside._

 

_As they grew older, they hatched a plan to kill the dragon that had trapped them.  They were strong and brave, just like their father, and they found a potion in one of the younger prince’s books that would allow them to kill the beast.  They lured the dragon up to them with poisoned baked goods, and watched as he died after consuming them all in one bite.  Then they knotted their sheets together and climbed down from the tower that had held them._

 

_They ventured back to the kingdom they had been stolen from, only to find that both their parents had died from grief.  A steward had been ruling the throne as the kingdom had searched for their missing princes, and there was much rejoicing with the princes’ return._

 

_But the princes found that the castle they had been born into felt too much like the tower.  There were always rules and restrictions for what they could and could not do.  So they put the Steward back in charge of the kingdom, and rode out on their fine black horses, determined to protect the safety of their kingdom some other way._

 

_There were other monsters, and other dragons, and the princes fought against them all.  They saved many a town and many a maiden from despair.  People begged them to accept some sort of reward in gratitude, but the princes refused.  They would not be thanked for protecting their people as they should._

 

_Sometimes, the maidens offered to wed one of the princes out of gratitude.  But the princes always refused, for if one decided to wed, they would have to leave the other.  Neither brother would be separated, so they remained unwed until they finally passed on to the next life, peacefully and side by side._

 

_And they woke in the same heaven, and embraced each other, for even God would not separate them.  There, their souls rested happily for the rest of time, safe, with each other, in their own private heaven._

 

 

*

 

 

Bessie was headed home the second time she saw the Brother Kings Winchester.  

 

She had married a butcher in town, and she was round with their first child.  She would not be able to continue in the palace kitchens for much longer.  Every day, it grew harder and harder to make her way back to her house in town.

 

She was passing by the stables when she saw them—two dark figures dismounting from their noble steeds.  Their armor glinted in the moonlight, and they looked as if they had not changed from the time Bessie had seen them years ago; still just as beautiful, just as predatory.  Unlike Bessie, who was merely stumbling through the darkness, they belonged in it.

 

Hidden by the palace shadow, she paused where she was, greedily watching them.  King Dean laughed throatily as he spoke, eyes half-lidded.  King Sam smirked back, and they swayed in towards each other, as if their shapes were keen to meld into one.

 

The Kings touched lips, and held them together for a moment before parting and leading their horses toward the stable.

 

Bessie’s heart beat fast in her chest.  Heedless of her condition, she ran through the streets until she reached home, hair clinging to the sweat on her face.  When her husband asked her what was wrong, she smiled and told him that she would not return to the palace kitchens again.  

 

She thought of her brother’s words about the Winchesters’ deal with the Devil, and dismissed them.  If that sort of love was the Devil’s work, then he wasn’t a very good Devil at all.

 


End file.
